


Faded Laughter Against Their Ears

by elendri



Category: No. 6 - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-13
Packaged: 2017-11-29 04:46:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elendri/pseuds/elendri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nezumi just wants for Shion to stay Shion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Faded Laughter Against Their Ears

It was truly astounding, Nezumi thought idly, just how long Shion could manage to hold an entire conversation by himself.

Shion had started prattling about his day the moment he’d walked in the door; this phenomenon had become so commonplace that Nezumi prided himself on the fact that he could now tune the idiot out within 60 seconds. It seemed like he might be winding down sometime soon though—the stew on the burner was starting to smell edible, finally.

Nezumi’s brain registered a chuckle from Shion. What was it he’d been talking about? Something about a puppy catching a toad? Nezumi wasn’t quite sure. He hadn’t really been following the thread of Shion’s rambling, his thoughts too wrapped up in other matters.

The “clean-up operation” was in just two days’ time. He had yet to tell Shion—wasn’t even sure if he _should_ tell Shion. He didn’t need the idiot to go losing his nerve now, not when there was so much at stake here.

The clunking sound of Shion setting out their bowls snapped Nezumi back to the present.

“—still not sure how they managed to get in there, but I took them all to that swamp out past the potato farm,” Shion was saying. “Inukashi gave me some extra coppers for taking care of the toads, so I stopped to get fresh potatoes for tonight. We don’t get to have them that often, do we? You like potatoes, right, Nezumi?”

Nezumi shrugged. “I like food.”

That seemed to be a good enough answer for Shion, who smiled as he began doling out the stew. Nezumi watched the chunks of potato splash into his bowl. He made a habit of not letting himself get too attached to any particular sort of food—what may be affordable one day might not be the next, or the supplier may ruin his crops, thus rendering them unavailable until next season.

But the potatoes did look good.

“I haggled with Enra over these, you know,” Shion said as he set down the pot. “You would’ve been proud. She knocked the price down by four coppers.”

Nezumi arched an eyebrow. “Really?” Shion had been notorious for always paying the asking price in the market, being either too stupid to realize that every merchant was out to rip off their customers or too timid to argue with them about it. Nezumi had never been sure which one it was, but he’d shouted at Shion over the matter so many times by this point without results that he’d given up on the matter as a lost cause.

Shion nodded as he took a seat next to Nezumi. “Rikiga was with me and when he saw the price, he swore that she was charging twice what she’d been asking for last week. If I’d thought that maybe business was going badly, I probably wouldn’t have pressed the matter, but I’d just passed the potato farm not an hour before. Their fields were full of healthy plants, and I saw her daughter eating strawberries.” Shion sighed wistfully. “ _Strawberries_ , Nezumi. So I knew Enra was just being greedy and decided to try to put your instruction to use.” He paused thoughtfully, blowing on his stew to cool it before taking a sip. “I actually only got her to come down two coppers, but then Rikiga stepped in and before I knew it, he’d saved me twice that.”

Nezumi snorted into his stew. “So it’s really all thanks to Rikiga that you didn’t overpay. Again.”

Shion frowned slightly. “I didn’t really hear what he said, but it sounded rude,” Shion admitted. “I would have never been able to say something like that.”

Of course he wouldn’t. Nezumi knew that perfectly well. _All the more reason to go through with this plan and get him back to his mama, before everyone in the West Block learns what a sucker he is and takes advantage of him._

“Anyway, Inukashi asked me to go back tomorrow to help sweep out the rooms, so I’ll be getting paid again,” Shion announced triumphantly. “Is there anything special you’d like for dinner tomorrow? Or maybe I’ll hold onto the money until after I’ve washed the dogs again—then I can get us a real feast.”

Nezumi made a noncommittal sound and slurped noisily from his bowl.

“I think I’ll do that,” Shion continued, apparently unfazed by Nezumi’s lack of interest. “We’ve mostly been having stew, it’d be nice to have a change of pace and get some fish or duck.” He took another sip from his bowl. “Or maybe pork. Do you think I could afford pork? And maybe to go with it I could get some snap peas or rice, or would you prefer bread rolls? Maybe some dessert too…”

Nezumi abruptly flipped the “Tune Out the Airhead” switch in his brain. There were more worrying things to be concentrating on than a meal they would probably never have together anyway.

_Will these be the kinds of memories he holds on to? Nezumi frowned. Washing dogs and reading books and buying vegetables—will these be enough for him when we’re in the belly of the beast?_

It was, Nezumi thought morosely, highly unlikely. The horrors they would be facing in just a few short days…if Shion were to have any hope of not losing himself to them, he was going to need something more to hold on to.

Perhaps his memories of his mother and Safu would be enough? It was possible. Shion had made it clear he loved them both dearly; they were two of his most important people.

But then Nezumi remembered something, some hazy conversation he’d had with Shion days ago that had slipped his mind until now.

_“I want to spend summer here.”_

_“Alive?”_

_“Alive.”_

Shion had seemed utterly resolute that day, as if he couldn’t imagine any other future—as if he had absolutely no doubt about the outcome of their mission, a mission Nezumi had yet to explain the details of. It was ridiculous of Shion to have such a notion, and Nezumi had waved it off at the time. He’d been sure that Shion would forget about it, or realize how foolishly naïve that thought was. But Shion’s tenacity was stronger than Nezumi had given him credit for; the idea seemed firmly entrenched in the idiot’s mind. “ _We’ll live, and go back to that room together._ ”

Thoughts of his past might not be enough. But thoughts of his future…

The idea that Shion would actually return to this hole with him was, of course, laughable. But the fact was that Shion seemed to wholeheartedly believe in that future, and that, Nezumi decided, was what he needed to play off of. He needed to give Shion a reason to fight the inevitable despair they would face, to not lose himself to whatever distress he might feel at what they would see.

A gentle shake of his shoulder wrenched Nezumi away from his thoughts. He suppressed a sigh—he was acting nearly as airheaded as Shion tonight, letting himself get too distracted by his musings.

“Where did you go, Nezumi?” Shion asked with a small smile.

Nezumi blinked. “What?”

“Your thoughts took you clear out of this room,” Shion said, a hint of laughter in his voice, “and far away where I couldn’t follow you. Where did you go?”

Nezumi set the bowl down on the table with a _thud_ and leaned back, crossing his arms in the manner of someone attempting to be casual. “Nevermind that now.”

Shion smiled at him, a smile that said, _I know what you’re doing, but I’ll let you do it anyway_. Nezumi turned away and scowled. “You had enough to eat, right, Nezumi? I’m going to go wash the dishes then. Do you want to read some more poetry when I get back? I was enjoying that one poet—Whitman, was it?”

Nezumi’s scowl deepened. _When did he start expecting bedtime stories? Hell, we’re not a family. Idiot._ “Nah,” Nezumi said brusquely. “I’m tired. I’m going to bed. Be quiet when you get back, will you?”

He didn’t look at Shion when he bent to pick up the bowl in front of him, but Nezumi could hear the hint of sadness in his voice when he spoke. “All right, I will be. Good night, Nezumi.”

Nezumi listened to the footsteps cross the room, and after the door opened and closed, he let out a frustrated sigh. _Probably shouldn’t have been so short with him_ , he thought ruefully. _Especially not now_.

Time was running short. In just two days, Nezumi would be leading Shion into hell. Would Shion be able to handle it? Would he break? Was there anything Nezumi could do to keep that from happening?

_Well, I’m going to have to try_ , he thought resolutely. Because the thought of Shion losing that innocent airheadedness, of Shion no longer being _Shion…_

Nezumi was fairly certain he’d never be able to forgive himself if that happened.

And so, burrowing into more than his share of the blankets, Nezumi closed his eyes and schemed.

* * *

_Fwump._

“Get up.”

_Fwump._

_Am I being attacked?_ Shion thought hazily. Something kept battering against him—it wasn’t hard or hurtful, but it was rather disorienting. He felt it knock into him again— _fwump_ —and tried to blearily open one eye.

“ _Up_ ,” he heard Nezumi command.

“Whassat?” Shion mumbled.

“If you don’t get up in the next ten seconds, I’m going to switch out this pillow for the frying pan,” Nezumi warned.

Shion’s eyes snapped open. “What?” he said with alarm.

“Better,” Nezumi said, tossing the pillow onto the bed, “but you’re still in bed. Get up, lazy, we’ve got a lot to do today.”

Shion had just swung his legs over the side of the bed and froze in the act of standing up. “What?” he said again. “What do you mean, we’ve got a lot to do? I—I mean, you never said anything, I didn’t think—I already told Inukashi I’d help her today—“

“Forget about the dog washing or the sweeping or whatever,” Nezumi said, airily waving a hand. “That stuff can wait.”

“But why?” Shion asked insistently. “You never mentioned—surely you wouldn’t wait until the last minute if it was something important—“

“Shion,” Nezumi interrupted, “would you rather do that flea-ridden brat’s chores all day, or would you rather shut up, get dressed, and come with me?”

Well, that seemed like a rhetorical question. Shion stood and gathered up his sweater and pants from where he’d neatly folded them the night before. He saw Nezumi’s look of approval before he turned away to fetch his own jacket.

“Nezumi,” Shion said as he pulled on his pants, “what is it we’re doing today anyway?” When he saw the way Nezumi’s fingers clenched on his jacket, Shion hastily continued speaking before he could get yelled at for asking so many questions. “I just want to know what I’m getting myself into and make sure it’s worth the rant I’m going to have to endure from Inukashi later.”

Nezumi shook his head as he slipped on his jacket and turned to face Shion again. “You’re too easily intimidated by her,” he said with a smirk. “But to answer your question: you’ve seen the dead bodies in the streets, the merchants that are out for blood, and even the theater that’s completely overrun by reprobates.” Nezumi’s grin widened. “I figured it’s time to show you the not-so-horrifying parts of the West Block.”

“Really? I didn’t know any of those existed,” Shion teased.

“They are few and far between,” Nezumi admitted, “but you take what good you can find and appreciate it.”

Shion shrugged on his own coat and faced Nezumi expectantly. “Well, then. Lead the way.”

Nezumi gave him a small bow. “As His Majesty commands.”

* * *

“I thought you said the merchants were out for blood,” Shion said uneasily.

“You just have to know which ones to talk to,” Nezumi confidently replied.

Shion trailed slightly behind Nezumi, his eyes darting around the marketplace as he wondered if anyone would start yelling at him. True, he came here alone quite often to purchase food for himself and Nezumi, but he had discovered a back alley long ago that led him almost straight to his usual vendor—he was always in and out quickly, and only ever bothered dealing with Enra. Old as she was, she was the least intimidating of all the merchants in the vicinity. Now, Nezumi was leading him through the heart of the bustling marketplace; it was rather more nerve-wracking than his standard in-and-out shopping trips.

Nezumi veered off suddenly toward one of the alleys branching off the main street. Shion hurried to keep up; if he lost sight of Nezumi now, he’d just get himself into trouble again, and Nezumi would spend the rest of the day cross with him.

“It’s just down here,” Nezumi called back to him.

“What’s just down here?” Shion automatically questioned.

Nezumi looked back at him with an impish grin. “You’ll see.”

Shion didn’t feel at all comforted by those words.

They walked all the way to the end of the alley, far down enough that the noise from the main street was a dull roar in the distance. Shion was trying to decide whether or not this was a good thing when Nezumi said, “This is it,” and rapped sharply on the wall.

_The wall?_

Shion stared in confusion at the wooden paneling Nezumi had knocked on, thinking there had to be more here than met the eye— _ah_. He studied the wall more closely and saw that yes, there, the faintest outline of a door was just barely perceptible. “Nezumi, what—“

The door swung open and out peered a middle-aged woman with red hair. She had streaks of dirt all over her dress, her arms, and even her cheeks. But she smiled brightly when she noticed Nezumi. “Haven’t seen you here in a while,” she said with teasing reprimand.

“Never enough time, Rhemi,” Nezumi shrugged. “Got some space for us?”

“Of course,” Rhemi said, opening the door wider and stepping aside. “Come in, please.”

“This is Shion,” Nezumi said, pointing his thumb behind him as he walked through the door.

“Ah, hello,” Shion said. He belatedly stuck out a hand for Rhemi to shake. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too,” Rhemi said warmly.

Shion stepped in after Nezumi and froze, staring around the room he’d just entered. There weren’t many other people inside, but they all looked to be in just about the same state as Rhemi—their hands were covered in dirt and the aprons they wore might have once been white, but the state they were in now couldn’t be fixed with all the bleach in the world. They were all smiling, and they were all…sculpting?

Yes, Shion realized with excitement, it wasn’t dirt they were working with, it was clay. A few people sat around a table molding the clay into figurines, their faces set with concentration as their fingers worked with practiced dexterity. Others sat on stools beside little tables that—Shion gaped in wonder—spun around and around; the people’s hands seemed to glide along the clay, shaping it into vases, bowls, plates. It looked like magic.

“You ever used a pottery wheel before?” Nezumi asked. He’d come up behind Shion while Shion had been fixated on the artists. The glint in his eye said that he knew Shion never had, so Shion didn’t bother to answer. Instead, he grabbed one of the aprons Nezumi was holding and, after shucking off his coat, he pulled it on.

“How do I use it?” Shion asked as he tied the apron closed.

Nezumi hung their jackets up on some empty pegs by the door and put on his own apron. “Look at their feet,” he said. “Each pottery wheel has a pedal—when you step down on it, it spins. Then you just have to try to keep your hands steady to make whatever it is you’re trying to make.”

“Right,” Shion said, “I want to try.”

Nezumi nodded, looking pleased. “Come on, then,” he said, and led Shion over towards the free pottery wheels. He took a seat and immediately grabbed a chunk of clay off a nearby table; Shion followed suit. “Kneed it into a ball,” Nezumi instructed, “like this.” He worked the clay over on the side table, folding the clay into itself over and over again.

Shion dropped his own clay onto the table and tried to mimic Nezumi’s movements. “This feels…sticky.”

Nezumi grinned at him. “You’ve never played in the mud before, have you?”

“No,” Shion replied, “mud is dirty. If I got dirty, I didn’t get dinner.”

Nezumi snickered at that. “I bet mud doesn’t even exist in No. 6—it can’t be a true utopia if people have dirty shoes.”

Shion scowled at him. “Of course there’s mud. There’s rain, isn’t there?”

“It was a joke, Shion.” Nezumi rolled his eyes. “Got your clay into a good shape yet? Yeah, that’s good enough. Now wet your hand here”—Nezumi dipped his hand into the tub of water that sat between their two stations—“and sprinkle some water onto the center of your wheel. Good. Now throw down your clay.”

Shion blinked at him. “Throw it?”

“Try to center it as best as you can,” Nezumi said, “right onto where you wet the wheel. Like this.” And with a careless rapidity, Nezumi threw the hunk of clay down onto his wheel. “You won’t get it perfectly centered, but aim it as close as you can.”

Shion bit his lip and let loose of his clay. It stuck with a heavy _thud_ , and Shion was pleased to see it sat in the relative center of the wheel.

“Good,” Nezumi said. He grinned at Shion. “Now let’s see what you can do with it.”

“But how do I—“

“First,” Nezumi interrupted him, “go ahead and step onto the pedal. Get your wheel moving. Good. Now wet your hands again. You’re going to have to keep dunking them in here—wet clay is easier to manipulate, and wet hands move more smoothly to shape it. You’re going to get messy. Deal with it.”

Shion snorted at that but followed Nezumi’s instructions. He found himself somewhat fascinated by the way the clay smoothed under his hands, how cold and slick and—yes—messy it was. He took his hands off his clay to wet them again and found himself pausing to watch Nezumi instead.

It was clear that Nezumi was no professional with the pottery wheel, but he was practiced enough to know how to work with the clay. His hands were steady as they molded the spinning clay; the look on his face was serenely content. Shion watched as the shape of a bowl began to rise from the clay—no, a vase.

Determined to not let Nezumi be the only one to walk out of here with a new creation, Shion got his pottery wheel spinning again. As he set his hands back on the clay, he asked conversationally, “How often do you come here?”

“Not very,” Nezumi answered. “Too busy to have much of a chance to come down here anymore. But I like coming here to clear my mind.” Nezumi took his hands off his clay to stretch before rewetting them and setting himself back to work. “I found this place…I don’t know, about a year ago? Rhemi does a good job of keeping it hidden from everyone except the people looking for a quiet place. It’s why I like it. Quiet time _and_ I get to play with arts and crafts.” He shot a quick grin at Shion. “And every time I leave here, I have some new dinnerware.”

Shion thought of the simple clay bowls they ate out of almost every night. Nezumi made those. _With his own two hands, Nezumi made those_. The revelation filled Shion with an indescribable delight. “But you’re not making a bowl this time,” Shion observed.

“Nah, figured I’d try to branch out,” Nezumi said. “See if I have a future in home décor.”

Shion glanced at the vase Nezumi was sculpting. It seemed like a fairly simple design, but sturdy and pleasing enough to the eye. “It would look good in your home.”

Nezumi snorted. “Well, that was a backhanded compliment if I ever heard one.”

“I didn’t mean—“ Shion started to protest.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Nezumi waved him off. “But now it’s your turn. Let’s see what marvels of art you can make. I can’t be the only one trying to decorate our home.”

Shion was fairly certain his jaw had dropped straight down to the floor. _Our home_. Our _home_. “You—uh.” Shion cut himself off, unsure of what to say that wouldn’t get him into trouble. “You wouldn’t mind if I, um, helped decorate?” Shion had never dared to bring anything into Nezumi’s home, hadn’t dared to do more than organize his books. He’d wanted to keep his presence in the domicile as innocuous as possible; if he didn’t disturb the home, he figured, Nezumi might complacently continue to accept his company. He was honestly surprised Nezumi had allowed him to stay this long—Nezumi was clearly a lone wolf type, and he had very little patience for other people. A part of Shion had woken up every morning wondering if that would be the day that Nezumi’s tolerance would finally give way and he’d be sent off to live at Inukashi’s hotel. But Nezumi continued making a space in his bed for him and kept enough food for the both of them.

Shion had let it all get to his head one day and started talking to Nezumi about the future. Only afterward had he realized how foolish it had been to speak his fantasies out loud. He’d thought Nezumi might get annoyed with his apparent assumption that Nezumi would allow him to continue living with him indefinitely…but Nezumi had let the matter go. In fact, he seemed to have completely forgotten about Shion’s lapse in judgment of Appropriate Things to Discuss With Nezumi. Shion had been relieved, but he hadn’t dared to hope that Nezumi’s silence might be construed as acceptance.

“Sure, why not?” Nezumi responded carelessly. “The place could use a feminine touch.”

“Nezumi!”

Laughing, Nezumi leaned back over his pottery wheel, leaving Shion to sputter indignantly to himself.

* * *

An hour later, after Nezumi and Shion had deposited their creations in the kiln (and stowed their coats away in one of the closets—the weather had warmed up considerably while they’d been inside) and had been reassured by Rhemi that they could come back first thing tomorrow for their things, Shion found himself once again trailing Nezumi along the backstreets of the marketplace.

“It really didn’t look that bad,” Shion grumbled.

Nezumi shot him a look. “It really didn’t look like a mug either.”

“It was my first time!” Shion cried in exasperation. “I’ll get better! We’ll go back, right, Nezumi?”

“Sure.”

There was something off about Nezumi’s voice, but Shion couldn’t place it. He shrugged it off and hurried to match his pace to Nezumi’s. “Where are we going now?”

“Lunch,” Nezumi answered.

Shion frowned in confusion. They weren’t heading in the direction of any of their usual vendors—in fact, Shion was sure he’d never been this far into the marketplace. He had no idea what could lay this far in that Nezumi would choose to go this way instead of going to a merchant he knew and trusted (inasmuch as Nezumi ever trusted anyone).

“Hope you’re hungry,” Nezumi grinned. “We’re having a real feast today.”

Shion remained quiet as he continued walking along beside Nezumi, unsure of how to respond to that.

They soon rounded a corner, and once he saw what was down the new alley, Shion froze.

Colors. There were so many colors.

_Fruit_.

Shion hadn’t seen any fruit since leaving No. 6, and now here in this hidden-away alley, the rewarding end of a labyrinth, were crates full of every imaginable kind. Plums, oranges, grapes, bananas, cherries, pineapples, mangoes, pears, blueberries, raspberries…

Shion wondered if he was salivating.

“Anything in particular you’d like?” Nezumi asked lightly. He’d stood quietly by, watching Shion take it all in with his wide-eyed wonder.

“Uh,” Shion said. He stared around, trying to figure out what he wanted the most—he couldn’t possibly ask Nezumi to get one of everything, which was what his stomach was screaming at him to do. His eyes lit on a crate piled full of a bright red fruit. “ _Strawberries_ ,” Shion moaned.

Nezumi snickered. “I take it you’d like some of those, then? Anything else?”

Shion turned his awed gaze on Nezumi. “We can afford this?”

Nezumi looked away and studied a nearby heap of watermelons. “Sure. We couldn’t get it off my salary alone, but you’re working for Inukashi now so we’ve got some extra change to spare.” He slanted a grin at Shion. “Hope you don’t mind that I took some of your hard-earned wages for this.”

Shion shook his head and turned to look back at the veritable banquet laid out before him. “What—what else should we get?”

Nezumi picked up a watermelon and balanced it in his hand. “Gotta have one of these,” he said. “What’s a picnic on a warm spring day without a seed-spitting contest?”

“Seed-spitting contest?” Shion repeated.

“Never had one of those with Safu and all your other little city friends?” Nezumi asked teasingly. “Then we’ll definitely need this.”

Shion wasn’t at all sure he could understand the appeal of spitting watermelon seeds, but he let it go. “Could we get grapes too? And peaches? And maybe some apples?”

Nezumi rolled his eyes and bent to pick up a woven basket—Shion saw now that there were stacks of them inbetween the crates of fruit. “Fill it up with whatever you want. Have at it.”

With a glowing smile at Nezumi, Shion took the basket and went straight toward the strawberries. Satisfied that Shion was clearly pleased with the lunch plans, Nezumi strolled off with his watermelon in hand. Time to find the fruit vendor and negotiate a decent price for their feast—he hoped she still liked impromptu poetry readings.

* * *

“I never realized there was a place like this out here,” Shion said. He plucked another grape off the vine he was holding and popped it into his mouth.

Nezumi tossed aside the apple core he’d been munching on. “Of course you wouldn’t. It only just got warm enough to be able to enjoy it.”

They were sprawled on a grassy hill, complete with a lake view and a warm spring breeze. To Shion, it felt like another world. True, it had been quite a trek to reach this place—after their stop at the fruit merchant’s, Nezumi had led Shion on a nearly half-hour long hike before Shion had spotted the glittering blue water of the lake. When he’d noticed the grass spread out before him, he’d wanted to flop down on it immediately. The West Block was all mud and dirt, but here, there were clumps of flowers and cattails that ringed the lake. Shion finally understood the phrase, “a sight for sore eyes.”

Shion dropped the empty grapevine onto the grass and leaned back with a groan. “I can’t eat another bite,” he said, massaging his stomach.

Nezumi glanced back at their basket. “I don’t think there’s another bite to eat anyway.” He stood up and stretched. “Come on.”

“Come where?” Shion asked, staring at Nezumi with incomprehension. After all that they’d eaten, how could Nezumi even _move?_

“I haven’t been here in a while. I don’t really remember what’s around,” Nezumi answered. He looked down at Shion with a playful smile. “Let’s go explore.”

Shion groaned again. “I don’t think I can explore. Nezumi, I just ate my body weight in fruit.”

“Then get up and walk it off,” Nezumi said brusquely.

“Fine,” Shion sighed. “Help me up.”

With an exaggerated roll of his eyes, Nezumi stuck out a hand for Shion to clasp. After pulling the other boy to his feet, Nezumi turned on his heel and started tramping down the hill. “We’ll just go to the lake for now,” he said over his shoulder to Shion. “We can work our way around it as you regain your ability to move, Your Majesty.”

“I wish you’d stop calling me that,” Shion muttered.

Nezumi shot him an impish grin. “Keep up, Highness,” he said before breaking into a jog.

He heard Shion yelp behind him, but the pace of the footsteps picked up.

They raced down the hill, Shion stumbling and cursing but still managing to stay close behind Nezumi. Nezumi kept increasing the pace little by little, until soon the steepness of the hill was controlling their speed. They flew down with reckless abandon, and Nezumi was surprised to hear a chuckle coming from his own mouth.

As the ground leveled off, Nezumi slowed himself until he was standing by the edge of the lake. He turned to see Shion several feet away, bent over with his hands braced on his thighs as he gulped in air. Nezumi shook his head in exasperation and looked back over the lake, curious about what might be on the other side.

A few moments later, he heard Shion join him by the lakeside. “Pretty,” Shion said. He hadn’t quite caught his breath yet.

“Mm,” Nezumi agreed.

They stood in companionable silence for a while, gazing out at the landscape that was so far removed from their usual scenery as to seem illusory. Sunlight gleamed off the surface of the water, making it shimmer in a hazy, dreamlike way. The cattails that grew in clusters around the lake swayed gracefully in the breeze; the leaves of the few trees that stood over the water danced on their branches. It was perfectly picturesque.

Nezumi broke the silence first. “Do you know how to skip stones?”

“Skip stones?” Shion repeated blankly.

“Like this.” Nezumi picked up a stone, weighing it carefully. With a rapid, fluid movement, he flicked the stone out across the water. He watched as it skipped several times across the surface—not his best throw, but adequate.

Nezumi glanced at Shion; he was not surprised to find the other boy staring in wide-eyed amazement at the spot where the stone had sunk. Nezumi smirked at Shion’s boyish delight.

Shion caught Nezumi’s gaze and lit up. “Can you do it again? Please, Nezumi?”

Nezumi shook his head, amused with how simple Shion could act at times—but he bent to pick up another stone nevertheless. With another flick of his wrist, the stone sped out across the water, spraying water in its wake as it skipped across the surface.

Glancing at Shion again—that rapt expression was back on the idiot’s face—Nezumi asked, “Want to give it a shot?”

Shion nodded excitedly. He scooped a stone off the ground and held it out to Nezumi in his palm. “Is this one okay?”

“Should be fine,” Nezumi said. “Now if you hold it like—“

“It’s okay, I was watching you,” Shion interrupted. “I think I’ve got it.”

Nezumi blinked. “Oh.” _This airhead. He watches me throw two stones and thinks he’s an expert? Yeah. Right._ Nezumi smirked at Shion. “Well, then. By all means, Your Majesty.”

Shion smiled back and stepped up to the shoreline. He held the stone up in his hand for several moments, his gaze flickering from the lake to his hand. Nezumi wondered if the idiot genius were actually trying to make a science experiment of this; it certainly looked as though he were attempting to gauge some sort of measurement, perhaps the angle of his release or the distance from his hand to the lake. Nezumi snorted. “Whenever it please Your Majesty.”

Shion turned his head slightly to fix Nezumi with a glare. Chuckling, Nezumi held up his hands. “All right, all right, I was just being facetious. Take your time.”

Shion turned back to the lake. Nezumi crossed his arms, expecting to have to watch Shion continue on with his examination, but with one last cursory glance, Shion lobbed the stone toward the water. The stone made contact with the surface…then bounced back up, going on to skip across the water another two, three, four times before disappearing from view.

Shion gave a delighted shout. “Amazing! With just the right amount of force at a proper angle, the stone’s velocity carries it across water. I would have never thought of that! Thank you for teaching me, Nezumi.” Shion turned to give Nezumi a beaming smile, but faltered at Nezumi’s expression. “Nezumi? What’s wrong?”

Nezumi continued to stare blankly at Shion for another moment before he could answer. “Nothing.” As if he would ever admit to Shion that it had taken him a whole day to master how to skip stones.

“So, uh,” Shion said, clearly still at a loss about the strange expression on Nezumi’s face. “Want to go explore now?”

Thinking about what he’d spied on the other side of the lake, Nezumi’s disgruntlement abruptly vanished. He grinned mischievously at Shion. “Actually,” he said, “I’ve got something in mind.”

* * *

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Shion said nervously.

“I really don’t care,” Nezumi said. “Now take off your pants.”

“But Nezumi—“

“Quit stalling. Come on, you’ll love it.”

“But—but doesn’t it seem dangerous? I mean, you said it’s been a while—“

“I’m sure it still works fine. Stop being so scared.”

“I am not _scared_. I just don’t want either of us to get hurt.”

“Well I’m doing it,” Nezumi announced.

Shion blanched and held out an impeding hand. “Wait, Nezumi, just—“

But with a loud roar, Nezumi raced forward, grabbed the rope that hung off the tree, and flew out over the lake. Shion clutched at his face in panic, imagining the rope, which had been sitting in disuse for years, snapping and hurtling Nezumi into the rocks that loomed treacherously by the shoreline, but the rope held steady and swung clear of the rocks. With another roar, Nezumi let go of the rope and plunged into the water and out of view.

Shion held his breath, feeling more and more anxious until finally Nezumi’s head broke the surface of the water. “Nezumi, are you all—“ Shion started to call out, but he cut himself off.

Nezumi was, loudly and unreservedly, _laughing_.

Well, that made up Shion’s mind. He quickly shucked off his shirt and pulled off his pants; clad only in his boxer-briefs, the weather suddenly didn’t seem quite as warm, but he resolutely ignored it. Giving a cry to rival Nezumi’s, Shion sprinted forward, determinedly focused on the rope that was swinging gently beneath the tree. He grasped the rope as he raced by, and, ignoring the plunging feeling of his heart dropping to somewhere below his kneecaps, Shion lunged out over the water.

He soared over the rocks and out over the open water, and he might have continued clinging to the rope as it swung back had he not caught sight of Nezumi grinning up at him. Without even making a conscious decision to do so, Shion let go of the rope and dropped into the lake, just catching Nezumi’s triumphant, “Hah!” before he disappeared below the water.

When he surfaced, he spotted Nezumi hoisting himself onto the bank. Shion swam over as Nezumi sat on the grass, but decided to stay in the water. He’d been afraid that it would be too cold to enjoy swimming in the lake, but it felt quite pleasant. He swam in circles around the cove, but his stamina didn’t hold out for long; he’d never been a strong swimmer. Not wanting to leave the water just yet, Shion turned onto his back and let himself float on the surface, feeling more at peace than he had in months.

“That scar,” Nezumi said musingly from above him. “It…completes you.”

Shion faltered a bit, looking embarrassed. “Isn’t it kind of…creepy?”

Nezumi shook his head, a small smile on his face. “Nah. I’d be more worried about how scrawny you are than the scar.”

_“You're like a twig. I don't know how you would be able to get naked in front of your lover with a body like that.”_ Shion suddenly felt deeply self-conscious. He could feel his face start to burn and hurriedly dove beneath the surface of the water.

When he came back up, Nezumi was regarding him with a speculative smirk. “Could be worse,” he said. “At least you’re not all skin and bones.”

“Yeah, well, it’s not as if your physique is something to aspire to either,” Shion muttered.

He was startled by the sound of Nezumi’s loud, full-bellied laugh. “I suppose it isn’t,” Nezumi chortled. He plunged suddenly into the water, spraying a still-dumbfounded Shion. When Nezumi surfaced, he shook his head like a dog and grinned. “We could do laps every day,” he said, kicking his feet to propel himself backwards. “Swimming’s good exercise. We’ll put on some muscle. Then I’ll look like the dashing hero I am and you won’t look quite so prepubescent.”

“Hey!” Shion protested.

Nezumi just snickered before diving back below the water.

* * *

They stayed in the water for a long time afterward, racing and splashing each other and taking several more turns on the rope swing. Shion didn’t know how long it was, but it felt like hours. When they finally collapsed on the grass beside the lake, their fingers were as wrinkled as raisins.

Shion closed his eyes, feeling spent but utterly content. Nezumi was silent beside him as they let the sun dry them off. He was not surprised to feel himself slipping away into sleep within moments.

When Shion finally opened his eyes again, he glanced over at Nezumi and saw that he, too, was just waking up from a nap. They exchanged small smiles as they both stood and went to gather up their clothes, dressing slowly in the fading sunlight.

Without a word, they walked back the way they had come.

* * *

In the after-dinner lull, Nezumi was just beginning to consider calling it a day and crawling into bed when Shion broke the silence.

“Nezumi,” he said hesitantly, “can you play the piano?”

Nezumi shot him a look. “I _own_ a piano, don’t I?”

“But I’ve never heard you play it.”

“Just because you haven’t heard it doesn’t mean I can’t,” Nezumi said witheringly.

“Then…” Shion steeled himself. “Can I hear you play?”

“What, now?”

“Please.”

Nezumi was sorely tempted to tell Shion to forget about it and just let him go to sleep, but the imploring look on Shion’s face was frustratingly difficult to say “no” to.

“All right,” Nezumi conceded. “What do you want to hear?”

Shion looked absolutely delighted. “I don’t care,” he said, smiling happily. “Whatever you like, Nezumi.”

Biting back a sigh, Nezumi stood and walked to the piano bench. He stared at the keys as if willing them to tell him what to play, his mind inconveniently blank as he tried to think of some composition to sate Shion’s curiosity.

Shion saw Nezumi’s frustration and immediately felt a bit guilty at suddenly putting him on the spot like that. He wondered if he should tell Nezumi to forget about it, but just seeing Nezumi sitting at the piano was a thrill to him. He wanted desperately to hear Nezumi’s music, to know this other side of him. What kind of music did Nezumi like to play? Did he memorize the compositions? Did he write his own? What kind of expression would he wear as he struck out a melody?

Nezumi suddenly straightened, and Shion stared in anticipation as he placed his hands on the keys. Shion held his breath, waiting, wondering…and then Nezumi began to play, and Shion was swept away.

The very first note caught him, leaving him breathless with wonder. He couldn’t explain the emotion in the piece, but he _felt_ it, felt it ring through him with a sharp clarity. Shion was captivated by the way a simple run of chords could affect him so. It felt as if Nezumi had taken his soul and set it to music, making him ache and tremble with every note.

And it was over much, much too soon.

The last note faded away and Shion found himself unable to speak. He was overwhelmed by the things the music had made him feel: vulnerability, intensity, tenderness, a violent swirl of all these things and more.

“Yeah,” he heard Nezumi say from somewhere that felt far away. “That piece can have that effect.”

_Did I speak my thoughts out loud?_ Shion wondered. But he knew that he hadn’t. No, Nezumi could guess his thoughts just by looking at his face.

“That was…” Shion started to say, but then he realized he had absolutely no idea what, exactly, that had been.

“Come here,” Nezumi said, struck with sudden inspiration. “I’ll teach you.”

“Teach me?” Shion gasped. “To play _that?_ ”

Nezumi snorted. “Baby steps, Your Royal Airheadedness,” he said dryly. “First you have to actually learn the _notes_.”

Shion blushed as he stood and walked over to join Nezumi on the bench. “Right.” He glanced at Nezumi. “So…where do I put my hands?”

“Keep them in your lap for now,” Nezumi said. “Just watch and learn first. We’ll begin here—“ he punctuated his words by hitting a white key in the center of the piano “—with middle C.”

For the next quarter of an hour, Shion paid rapt attention as Nezumi gave him a beginner’s piano lesson. Nezumi explained how the keys were arranged, how to count the keys as a simple way to find whichever note he might be looking for, what the sharps and flats were, on and on until he seemed satisfied that Shion had caught on to the basics. He allowed Shion to touch the keys then, calling out notes and nodding in approval when Shion managed to correctly locate them. Once he seemed confident in Shion’s understanding of the piano, he grabbed a stack of sheet notes, rifling through them until he found an apparently acceptable composition. Another quarter of an hour was spent on learning to read the sheet music, with Nezumi telling Shion the notes on one page and then making Shion label the notes on the next.

“You catch on quickly, I’ll give you that,” Nezumi said with approval.

“It’s a simple but effective system,” Shion said, his fingers timidly tapping out a melody. “I never would have believed that seven notes would be enough to sufficiently label all the keys, but it works out well.”

“Time to put your first lesson to the test,” Nezumi grinned. “You focus on the part for the right hand, I’ll be your left.”

Shion felt nervous and inadequately prepared, but if Nezumi was telling him to try, well, that was all the push he needed to set his fingers on the keys and stumble through the piece as best he could.

Nezumi had him focus on the first page of the composition only; when they reached the bottom of the page, Nezumi would command, “Again,” and back to the first note Shion would go. They played through it several times, and Shion was just on the verge of crying with frustration when Nezumi finally said, “Enough.”

“I’m sorry,” Shion burst out. “That was awful, I can do better, I know I can—“

“Of course you can,” Nezumi said calmly. “And you will. But for your first time, that was pretty damn good.”

That stopped Shion short. “R-really?” he asked breathlessly.

“Shion,” Nezumi said with a hint of exasperation, “that piece was written in 1850 by a hugely famous composer who became hugely famous for being a very technically skilled player. The fact that you managed to get through it at all with very little training is a miracle. So shut up and take the compliment.”

Shion smiled widely at Nezumi—which probably wasn’t the proper reaction after being told to shut up, but he didn’t care. “Thank you for the lesson, Nezumi.”

Nezumi shrugged. “Sure.”

“So who is the composer for this piece anyway?” Shion asked. He knew the name wouldn’t be familiar to him, but he wanted to know. He wanted to remember the first piece he’d ever played on the piano.

“Liszt,” Nezumi answered. “Franz Liszt. Consolation No. 3.”

Shion nodded as he delicately touched one of the piano keys. “Someday I’ll learn the entire thing,” he vowed. “I’ll be able to play it without even looking at the sheet music. With both hands.”

“A worthy goal,” Nezumi said, laughter in his voice.

“Can I hear you play something else?” Shion asked abruptly.

Nezumi sighed. “Haven’t had enough yet?”

“No.”

Nezumi made a face. “Fine, but this is it. I need sleep.”

“Just one more,” Shion agreed.

Nezumi took a moment to consider which piece to play, running through compositions in his head as he tried to remember which ones he knew by heart; he didn’t have the patience to go flipping through his sheet music again. Since he had Liszt on his mind anyway, he settled on another piece by the same composer. An instant after deciding, he touched his fingers to the keys again and began to play.

This piece was in stark contrast to the one he’d played for Shion earlier. It was delicate, a sweetly elegant song that played to softer emotions. He hadn’t been able to stand playing it for a long time; the way the notes resonated with romance and compassion would leave him with a bitter taste in his mouth. But it was one of very few quieter compositions he knew, and tired as he was, it was all he was up to playing right now.

Shion was gazing at him in awe when he finished. “That was beautiful,” Shion said, his voice barely a whisper.

It made Nezumi feel uneasy. He stamped down the feeling and offered Shion a lazy grin. “I’ll teach it to you next time.”

Shion looked at Nezumi with a glowing, hopeful expression. “Next time?”

The way Shion’s eyes were shining was both gratifying and troublesome. “Sure,” Nezumi said gruffly, “if Liszt doesn’t come out of his grave and murder you in your sleep tonight.”

“I think he’ll grant me some extra practice time before he makes the effort,” Shion said cheerfully as he gathered up the sheet music. “Brand new pianists get a grace period before undead classical composers pass judgment on them.”

“Yeah, sure,” Nezumi sardonically responded.

Shion grinned back at him. After replacing the sheet music where it had been stacked beside the piano, he moved towards the bed and gathered up the old shirt and sweatpants Nezumi had loaned to him as pajamas. “Is it all right if I use the bathroom first?” he asked.

Nezumi idly waved a hand at him in a _go ahead_ manner. Once Shion had disappeared into the wash room, Nezumi let out the deep sigh he felt he’d been holding in all day.

_Was it enough? Was any of it enough? Will Shion survive this?_

Too late for those kinds of thoughts. Nezumi had done what he could; he’d find out if it had been enough tomorrow.

_Tomorrow_.

It was amazing how even just a day ago, the “clean up operation” had seemed so far away. Now that there was only one night’s sleep between him and when he’d be willingly allowing himself to be taken to the Correctional Facility, he felt the briefest stirring of panic. There was so much at stake here, so much that could go wrong.

Nezumi almost laughed at himself. He’d spent so much time wondering if Shion would be ready—would _he?_

_Yes_ , Nezumi answered himself immediately. It was fine to feel some unease at what was to come; it didn’t mean he wouldn’t be able to handle himself and do whatever needed to be done to accomplish what he was setting out to do.

As Shion walked back into the room, though, Nezumi’s anxiety intensified. _I can handle myself. But I can’t handle both of us. Shion, are you strong enough for this? Am I leading you to your ruin?_

“You can have the bathroom now, Nezumi,” Shion said, as if Nezumi hadn’t noticed him returning.

Jolted back into himself, Nezumi stalked past Shion into the bathroom. He needed to stop asking himself questions with no answers. There was no point in thinking anymore about what might happen tomorrow. It wouldn’t change anything. Whatever happened tomorrow would happen; there was nothing more he could do for Shion or for himself.

But when they finally crawled into bed, Nezumi listened to the sound of Shion’s deep, even breathing and hoped fervently that the lifeline he’d thrown Shion would, somehow, some way, be enough to save him.

**Author's Note:**

> The first song Nezumi plays for Shion is Étude Op. 8 No. 12 by Scriabin. The second is Liebestraum No. 3 by Franz Liszt. (YouTube them if you haven’t heard them—they’re gorgeous.) A huuuuuge thank you to Elmira for helping me find those songs.


End file.
